The Magic of Murder
by ReynLucisto
Summary: Lucien wasn't always an assassin, but it was always only a matter of time. Before the Brotherhood, he was a magician with abilities impatient to be discovered. Dangerously impatient.   -comments and critiques, please-


**The Magic of Murder**

When Lucien turned sixteen, his father decided it was time for him to join the family business.

That night – on the anniversary of his birth – Lucien followed his father on horseback. They rode farther into the forest than Lucien had ever been, but he knew better than to ask where they were going; either his father would tell him or he would find out when they arrived.

Winter was coming quickly in northern Tamriel, as it always did. The trees were nearly bare, and Lucien warmed himself and Shadowmere against the chilly breeze – then, he thought nothing of the simple heat spells that flowed from his hand. With them, the ride was pleasant – Lucien enjoyed it.

He would learn not to be so unsuspicious.

It was only when they got to the cottage that Lucien felt the tendrils of unease, and even then it was largely because of Shadowmere. From the time the small wooden cottage came into view, she became more and more reluctant to move forward. Finally, she reached a point where she would go no further, and Lucien was forced to dismount and walk the last few yards. His father didn't seem to notice – or said nothing if he did – and when he was about to open the door, Lucien decided he needed to know.

"Father," he said, breaking the silence they had been riding in.

The man turned. He said nothing, but his eyebrows were raised in question – and to remind Lucien that he best have a good reason for interrupting.

Lucien forced himself to ask the question. "What are we doing here?"

The trees rustled, and Shadowmere, who had come to Lucien's side, snorted and tossed her head. Lucien felt himself tense under his father's gaze. He did not, however, let his eyes drop, but stayed by Shadowmere and waited for an answer.

"A man," Lucien's father said calmly.

Lucien shivered.

A defining characteristic of Gavrilo Labosnia was his temper. It flared often, without notice, and for every reason. Sometimes it was preceded by a certain calm that was one of the many signs Lucien had learned to recognize very early in his life. The problem was that this calm was different, and it worried Lucien because he didn't know what it might mean.

Then he saw the eerie sparkle in his father's eyes, and he realized.

The man was eager.

It was frightening.

When he spoke again, Lucien could hear the barely-contained excitement in his voice.

"Although, we shouldn't call him a man. He is much less than a man. He has no name – he deserves none. He has killed, yes, but worse than that," A pause, and then, "he has betrayed."

_Betrayal_. In his father's mind, the very worst sin. A sin punishable only by . . .

With growing trepidation but having no other option, Lucien followed his father into the cottage.

There _was _a man – bound, gagged, kneeling, and staring wildly about the unlit room. He wasn't alone. A shadow loomed behind him – a black-cloaked figure like the ones that so often slunk around the Labosnia manor. The shadow that meant death.

"So you _have_ arrived," the shadow said. The voice stirred something in Lucien's mind – a detail of a memory he had forgotten. Or tried to forget . . .

The woman stepped around the victim. Her hood fell from her head, revealing a high-elf face with lips curled in dark amusement and narrowed eyes that glistened like ice.

And Lucien remembered. _A face at the door in the dead of night, speaking in evil whispers to his father. A list of names on a bit of parchment, changing hands. A word – _Sithis_._

For a long moment she considered Lucien, and silence hung in the dark cottage like a thick black mist.

_Cold gray eyes locking onto those of an eight-year-old thought to be sleeping. Lips curling into a wicked smile. The feeling of being trapped, caught, unable to move . . . a moment that lasted an eternity . . ._

"He'll do," she said, and slid a glinting blade from beneath her cloak. "If he can complete the task."

"Of course he can," said Lucien's father from behind him. Lucien jerked in surprise – he had forgotten his father.

The woman laughed quietly. "We'll see," she said.

And then the sword was in his hand, and Lucien realized at once that it was enchanted. The magic rippled through his arm and settled into a warm, familiar throb. For one wonderful moment all he could feel was the magic.

Then the moment passed.

"Kill him, Lucien," said the woman. A mocking challenge. A knowing smile.

Lucien tightened his grip on the sword's hilt. His gaze dropped to the man on the floor, who stared back up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Behind the gag he was whimpering.

"Through his heart, Lucien." His father spoke now, still standing behind his son. Lucien tensed. Silence fell again.

"Why?" Lucien whispered. He couldn't break the man's gaze, but neither did he lower the weapon. It took all his courage to ask the simple question. Another thing Lucien had learned young was that no one questioned his father – not twice, anyway.

The woman's smile widened, and when she spoke there was a laugh in her voice. "That's always the question, isn't it?" Her triumphant gaze fell on Lucien's father.

Then hands clamped down on Lucien's shoulders, and he was faced with an expression he _did _recognize.

"It is your time," said Lucien's father slowly, as if explaining something to a small child. "It is time for you to join your true family." His eyes flicked to the woman before returning to Lucien. "Consider this your initiation. Once you've joined the Dark Brotherhood, your education of magic can truly begin. You want that, don't you?"

_Dark Brotherhood_. It was the first time Lucien heard the words.

"Yes, father."

"Don't sound so afraid. You've never been a stupid boy, Lucien – surely you've realized…"

No, Lucien wasn't stupid. He knew what his father was, at least on some level.

But what struck him now was that he wasn't a _boy._ He was sixteen, wasn't he? An adult next year.

"You can't ask me to do this, father." With an effort, Lucien kept his voice from shaking, and he held his father's gaze even when it turned to ice.

"No one said anything about _asking_." His tone made Lucien's heart speed, and automatically Lucien braced himself for one of his father's typical violent reactions.

At the same time, he felt something stir in him – it felt very much like the sword's magical ripple.

"Do it for the Dark Brotherhood, or do it because I told you," his father continued – his low voice was almost a hiss. "Either way, it's quite simple."

"I won't." Lucien heard himself say the words before he thought them, and they surprised him. Startled him, even.

Surprise also flashed across his father's face, but it didn't last more than a moment before it twisted into rage, and Lucien's eyes widened. The sword fell limp at his side and he found himself backing up.

With something like a yell of fury, Gavrilo wrenched the sword from his son's hand, stabbed it through the heart of the kneeling man, and rounded on his son.

"Foolish boy," he said, forcing a trembling Lucien back against the wall. "You don't understand, do you? After everything I've done for you…" He raised his hand, and then it was coming at Lucien – as it had so many times before.

But enough was enough.

_No_.

There was a flash of white light, and Gavrilo's hand bounced off the air.

Lucien's own expression hardened, and he straightened to his full height to look his father straight in the eyes.

"Don't touch me."

Again, a brief moment of surprised followed by rage, but Lucien – somehow – had drawn a line, and there was no going back. A torrent of thoughts ripped through his mind, not the least of which was the murder he had just witnessed.

Finally, he embraced the magic.

For one moment Lucien was aware of the metal scrapping of sword against scabbard, but then he was unaware of everything other than his own power.

When he closed his eyes, everything seemed to slow. He was aware of the blood pounding in his ears and the blood still pooling around the nameless man's chest, he could feel the surprise of the black-cloaked woman, who would not interfere but only watch with fascination, he sensed the air split in front of him as his father's dagger hurtled towards him…

Then Lucien raised his hand and the world exploded.

He woke on the floor of an empty cottage with daylight pouring in through the windows. There was blood on the floor, but no people. No shadows. No black cloaks.

Lucien found Shadowmere outside, right where he had left her. He stood next to her a moment, stroking her black mane, blinking in the sunlight, trying to understand. The magic was real; that much he knew. He could feel it pulsing in him like a heartbeat – now that he had discovered it, it would stay with him. He also thought he had a horribly good guess as to what he had done, and he thought that perhaps he wasn't safe any more.

But perhaps he never had been.

He rode.

At first it seemed everything would somehow be fine.

Lucien met Raminus Polis in the Imperial City. He, under the alias_ Lachance_, found himself welcomed into the Arcane University despite his unwillingness to discuss his past, and with a surreal sort of feeling he settled into the routine that was University life. Eventually, he was even able to convince himself that either nothing had happened or nothing else _would _happen. True, that was harder to accept in the middle of the night when he woke in a cold sweat, certain that a pale-faced, black-cloaked woman was standing over his bed. But eventually even the dreams lessened.

A year passed.

Lucien studied under Raminus himself. He mastered every spell he could find, developed a fascination with the Ayleids, and for a while couldn't believe his good fortune.

Then he began to grow restless.

The problem with the University was its rules. Certain branches of magic were strictly forbidden, and Lucien found himself unable to study in the areas he found most fascinating. For the most part, Ayleidic magic was approved, but only as far as reading. Many of the experiments Lucien wanted to try were considered too dangerous for anyone other than mages of highest rank. Worse, Lucien was expected to take formal classes that he could easily have taught – with so much of his time wasted in such a way, Lucien hardly ever had opportunities to even visit the ruins scattered around the city, much less properly explore them. That is, if such a thing had been allowed in the first place.

However, even with its shortcomings, Lucien probably wouldn't have chosen to give up his new life.

Then Alan Traven killed Shadowmere and Lucien ran out of options.

It was one of the rare occasions Lucien was able to escape the University gates. He even let Alan – the son of one of the mages at the University – come with him, at the boy's relentless begging.

Alan rode in front of Lucien on Shadowmere, and Lucien left him in the saddle when he dismounted to go examine the door to the Ayleidic _Narfinsel_. He didn't have too much time, so he would just look. No harm in looking. Alan would be fine. As long as no one found out.

"Why can't I come with you?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're all the way over there!"

"Just stay put a second, would you?"

Alan groaned loudly, bouncing his heels against Shadowmere's flank, and Lucien heard his horse whinnying in annoyance behind him as he knelt to examine the stone more closely. The Ayleids had a nasty habit of protecting their buildings with deadly traps – it was one reason such expeditions were frowned upon by Lucien's over-protective professors.

"Is this from the ruin?" Alan called, pulling a book out of Shadowmere's saddlebags.

Lucien glanced back at him and the book in his hand. It wasn't, strictly-speaking, _illegal_, but that didn't necessarily mean Lucien wanted Alan telling his father about it. "Yes. Put it back," he said.

"Is this Ayleid? I can't read what it – oh, did you write this part?"

Lucien ran his hand over the stone, thinking what way would be best to go about opening it. Had that been his intention.

"Ignis . . . iacio . . ."

Lucien's head snapped up.

"Ignito . . . exped . . . ita . . ."

"Alan, don't!" Lucien ran back to his horse, seeing now that Alan had also found a stone of the Ayleids – probably the most powerful magical object in Lucien's possession.

And yes, Lucien had left it in his horse's saddlebag within reach of a child.

"Ignito!" Alan yelled, waving his arms – and the Varla stone – in the air and giggling.

Lucien stopped short. Maybe it was nothing; maybe broken words from the mouth of an eleven-year-old meant nothing.

But then Shadowmere burst into flames.

Alan screamed and tumbled to the ground as the horse reared, suddenly nothing more than a brilliant ball of fire in the night. She screamed too.

"Shadowmere!" Lucien yelled, and rushed to her. Water, water, he needed water, he thought desperately. Glistening liquid sprayed from his fingertips but was swallowed by the inferno. No, of course not water – he was panicking. _Countercurse_. That was it – the book, where was the book? He turned around wildly, and then he spotted it – just there, in that boy's hands.

"Lucien, I didn't know, I –" Alan rambled.

"Get out of the way!" Lucien hissed. He grabbed the book, pushed the boy out of the way, didn't notice the magic slip from his hand. He ripped through the pages – his horse was on fire, his horse was on fire . . .

"_Tepesco flammas_," he breathed, and then he repeated the words, more loudly. And again. The flames shrunk, and after a moment there was no evidence that they had ever existed. The forest was silent.

Shadowmere collapsed, and Lucien rushed to her side. He ran his hand over her, sending her his magic. _Heal her_, he thought, _please heal her_. White glowing ribbons of magic snaked over her heaving flanks.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

Some part of Lucien's mind registered the moment she lost her fight for breath, but he kept bathing her with his magic until exhaustion forced him to stop. Even then his trembling hand continued to run up and down her glistening black coat.

Then he thought of Alan. He had fallen, hadn't he? He stumbled to the other side of the clearing and found the boy lying in an unmoving heap. Lucien felt panic rising up in him again; surely Alan wasn't . . .? Lucien turned the limp body over, listened to his silent chest . . .

"Alan, no . . . wake up . . ." he muttered. He forced more magic over Alan's body, but the spells grew weaker and finally refused to come at all. The same power that had taken the boy's life refused to give it back.

Lucien stood, swayed on the spot, and collapsed. There was Shadowmere, dead across the clearing, here was Alan, dead by Lucien's hand . . . and who was that, standing by that tree? Odd place for someone to be standing, Lucien thought dimly.

He closed his eyes.

"La_chance_ . . . Clever, Lucien, I must say." The speaker scoffed.

Lucien turned, magic prickling at his fingertips. The woman – the woman from his nightmares. She was here, speaking to him, and besides the two of them the clearing was empty. Was he dreaming?

"The boy's body has been moved."

Of course.

It was easier to accept than he had expected. He couldn't go back to the Arcane University; he knew that much at once, but it didn't bother him as much as it should have. Instead, he found himself assessing his present situation with a coolness he had never before been capable of. He considered the woman, wondered exactly how dangerous she was, and decided he wasn't afraid of her.

"My name is Arquen," she said. "I worked very closely with your father. Who you killed," she added. "He thought you were ready, you see. I knew you weren't. We both underestimated you, apparently." She spoke as if it had all happened the day before.

_Who you killed._

So matter-of-fact.

"What do you want?" No, Lucien wasn't afraid of her, and he met her gaze steadily.

"To convince you to join the Brotherhood."

A pause. "Why should I?"

Arquen smiled. "Why shouldn't you? You can't run back to that fool Polis . . . but you don't want to anyway, do you?" He said nothing, and she shrugged. "The pay is good."

"You're going to have to do better than that."

She laughed her cold laugh and her eyes narrowed. "You're interested."

"Let's not get carried away."

"Fine. How about that magic of yours? Raminus was right to be impressed, you know. But he's useless. I, on the other hand, can make you powerful in ways you couldn't imagine. For example . . ." She looked past him, over his shoulder.

Despite realizing that it was probably not a good idea to put his back to her, Lucien followed Arquen's gaze.

Red eyes looked at him from the darkness.

He glanced back at Arquen, and then tensed as something brushed against his arm.

Shadowmere was next to him, and Lucien was stroking her before he could accept what he was seeing.

"How?" he whispered without taking his eyes off his horse.

"With help."

Lucien looked at Arquen, who was examining his Varla stone – no longer glowing but certainly the same one that had started the deadly fire.

"You really shouldn't leave such things unattended," said Arquen.

Lucien looked at Shadowmere. There was no question she was his horse, but he felt some new dark thing hovering around her – something that may or may not have had anything to do with her glowing eyes.

She closed them briefly and nuzzled him, and he continued to stroke her.

"You'll teach me?" he said to Arquen.

"Everything I know." She paused, then added. "Within reason."

For a moment Lucien considered.

Then he grinned. "Fine," he said.

It was difficult at first, killing. On his first nights in the Dark Brotherhood, Lucien would wake to the never-ending screams of his victims, terrified and wondering what he had gotten himself into and what he had been thinking and if it would ever end.

But morning would always come, and with it new power. His magic grew, and soon it developed a taste for killing.

Then the murders became almost easy.


End file.
